Stay

A/N: Why, hello! Told you it wouldn't be too long until you heard from me again. ;)

After I wrote my one-shot, "Say Something," wherein Lilly actually takes the FBI job, I began to be intrigued by the possibilities that might arise had Lilly, in fact, left Philadelphia and the Cold Case squad. It is important to note, though, that this is not a sequel to "Say Something," merely a story exploring a similar circumstance.

The title of this story comes from the Florida Georgia Line song by the same name. If this story were to have a theme song, that would be it, although (spoiler alert) I do not, at this point, plan to have anyone set a mobile home on fire.

Another note: although I have largely stuck to series canon in this, I won't be dealing with any of the Scotty/Jimmy Mota stuff, simply because I can't come up with a satisfying way to incorporate that arc and keep Scotty out of jail. For an excellent recent story that does deal with the Mota stuff far better than anything I've come up with, check out "Metamorphoses" by little dark starling.

Welcome back, and I hope you enjoy this story!

Chapter One

I Made It

It was just sitting there. In the box. Looking up at her.

The fluorescent lights of the office kitchen glistening off its sugar-coated surface, the one remaining donut from that morning's dozen almost dared whoever might have popped in for a fresh cup of joe to consider its solitary state, pick it up, and polish it off.

In this case, that happened to be Lilly Rush.

Since relocating to Washington, D. C. with the FBI four months prior, Lilly had jumped into her new job with both feet and, for the most part, shelved the box of memories of her years working cold cases with Philadelphia Homicide. But sometimes, those memories poked their heads out anyway.

Like now, when the sight of a stupid donut brought to mind Kat and Nick's incessant bickering. Jeffries' quiet strength. Boss's constant care for those on his watch. And Scotty…

"You got designs on that, new girl?"

Lilly blinked, startled, as one of her colleagues, a middle-aged blonde man with black-framed glasses and a graying beard, entered the kitchen to freshen his coffee. "On what?" she asked.

"That donut."

"Oh, no." Her hand fluttered dismissively in the air. "Go ahead. Take it."

Coffee sloshed from the glass carafe into her fellow agent's mug. She thought his name was Murphy, but her brain was so overfull from training and travel that she couldn't be certain.

"Thanks, but I better not." He patted his ample stomach, then flitted his eyes over her from head to toe in an evaluation that, although not unkind or disrespectful, was certainly thorough. "Wouldn't hurt you, though."

With a sigh, Lilly sipped her coffee and watched her co-worker, whatever his name was, carry his steaming mug out of the kitchen. No, she supposed the donut wouldn't hurt. The dual stresses of relocating and learning the ropes of a new job had taken a toll on her sleep and her appetite, leaving her without an abundance of either. Clothes that had fit perfectly in Philly now hung just loose enough that she'd recently had to carve out precious time to go shopping, a pastime she loathed under the best of circumstances. She'd have almost rather gotten her teeth cleaned.

At least now, though, she had the money to spring for a new wardrobe. Being a federal agent did have its perks.

Truth be told, Lilly loved her new job. Loved it. The high stakes, the fast pace. The pride filling her heart when she fastened the shiny gold badge every morning, when she ran a fingertip over the ornately carved eagle at the top of it. Special Agent Rush, FBI. Four months into the job, and the excitement that zinged through her every time she introduced herself was as strong as ever.

If only the same could be said about her relationships with her squad. It wasn't that they didn't get along; from what she saw of them, everyone got along fine. They were a conglomeration of cordial co-workers united by a common passion, a group who nodded good morning and never bickered over breakfast…but they weren't family.

"Morning, Rush."

Lilly looked up to see the wavy salt-and-pepper hair and sharp blue eyes of her partner. At least here was one name she knew.

"Mornin', Tom." She indicated the almost-empty white cardboard box. "There's a donut left, if you want it."

"Wouldn't know where to put it." The lines around Special Agent Tom Nichols' eyes and mouth deepened with his amusement as he reached up into the cabinet for his coffee mug. "Rita made her standard welcome home breakfast."

"Pancakes, fruit salad, and Canadian bacon, right?"

"Good memory, Special Agent."

Lilly grinned. "Well, no wonder you don't have any room for a donut."

"Gotta eat while the eating's good." Nichols poured coffee into his usual Texas Rangers mug, steam billowing from the carafe. "I ran into the boss on the elevator this morning; he said something about a road trip."

"Another one?" Lilly's brows lifted. "We just got back from Boston yesterday."

"Tell me about it," Nichols flashed a grin. "Thank God for FaceTime, or I don't think I'd recognize Sophie and Oliver anymore."

Lilly chuckled. Her partner's twin fourteen-year-olds were his pride and joy. He never complained, not really, but she knew the constant time away from his wife and kids sometimes wore on him.

"Oh. Almost forgot." Her partner paused, the coffee mug halfway to his lips. "Donaldson said something about this job needing your expertise."

"My expertise?" Lilly frowned over the rim of her cup. "I'm barely out of training."

With a slight shrug, Nichols started toward the doorway. "Don't know any more than you do, Rush. All I know is he wanted to meet with us first thing."

"Then let's go." Coffee in hand, Lilly started to stride out of the kitchen, then paused, one hand on the metal doorframe.

Nichols turned around. "You coming?"

"Yeah. I'll…be right there."

That one lonely donut was still sitting in the box, waiting to be chosen. She almost felt sorry for it. In Philly, it would've been admired, lusted after, planned for, fought over, and ultimately devoured with plenty of celebratory trash-talking from the victor. Here, it just sat so forlorn that finally, she grabbed a napkin and snatched up the pastry.

With a small, smug smile, Lilly sank her teeth into the gooey, shockingly sweet dough, then headed out with it and her partner into her new boss's office.

Being a federal agent did indeed have its perks.

"That's the third time this week, you jackass!"

The angry exclamation from the kitchen caused Scotty Valens to glance up, curious as to what he'd done this time. More often than not these last few months, when the word 'jackass' left Kat Miller's lips, he was on the receiving end of it.

Unless food was involved. And from the empty Dunkin' Donuts box in the kitchen and the half-eaten chocolate twirl in Nick Vera's hand, it seemed this time, Scotty was off the hook.

His partner stormed back into the squad room, empty-handed but for a mug of coffee. "Unbelievable."

"What?" Vera asked around a fresh bite of donut. "You never eat breakfast. Said so yourself."

"This ain't breakfast, it's a mid-mornin' snack." Kat's heavy mass of twisted hair practically vibrated with her fury.

"Hey, the first thing you eat on any given day is breakfast. Especially if it's only…"

Scotty glanced at his watch. "8:03 AM."

"8:03 AM. Thank you." Vera popped the rest of the disputed donut into his mouth.

"Yeah? Well, my day starts at five," Kat sat down heavily in her chair. "Five. That's how early I gotta get up to get Veronica's ass ready and out the door on time. So to me, it's mid-mornin', and I'm hungry."

"Then maybe you oughta start eatin' breakfast." Vera crumpled the thin sheet of waxed paper in his fist and clanged it into a nearby trash can. "Right, Scotty?"

Scotty's eyes never left the form he was filling out. "Oh, no way. I ain't gettin' in the middle of this. You two and your food fights are none of my business."

"Since when?" Vera sounded incredulous.

"Since Miller became my partner. I got a vested interest in not pissin' her off."

He felt, rather than saw, the triumphant smirk from Kat and the annoyed glare from Vera, who then launched into a lengthy diatribe on why mid-morning didn't start, not officially anyway, until at least nine-thirty. Scotty, however, tuned it out and turned his attention back to his paperwork. He had to stay in the zone, because if he didn't, he'd remember why Miller was his partner. His eyes might wander over to that empty desk. He might even see a ghostly image of his old partner, deep in thought, a slight smile on her face. If that happened, the gaping hole she'd gouged in his heart might start to throb again.

And he was over that. Over her.

Besides, they'd just opened a new case. That always got Scotty's blood pumping. There was something fresh, something invigorating, about a clean murder board, about taking the lids off dusty evidence boxes and starting to answer all the agonizing questions some poor schmuck's people had been left with for God alone knew how many years.

"Morning, everyone."

Scotty glanced up to see John Stillman standing a few paces in front of their little cluster of desks, arms laced behind his back. His steely gaze flitted around the group, lingering just for a second on the empty desk.

Scotty kept his eyes up. He wasn't going there. Not today.

"Where are we this morning?" the boss asked.

"Frannie just dropped off the autopsy report." Kat flipped open the file, her index finger skimming along the lines she was reading. "Dental records confirm our vic is Shane Lucas, age thirty-six. Cause of death looks like a broken neck."

Stillman took off his glasses and held them in his right hand. "Did we get the box over from Missing Persons yet?"

"Right here, John." Will Jeffries patted the large cardboard box straddling the space between his desk and Vera's. "Lucas was an accountant at P3 Global. Last seen at a staff meeting there on January 15, 2008; hadn't been heard from since."

Kat's brow furrowed. "P3…ain't that the snazzy sports agency on Sixth?"

"Yeah." Vera's eyes lit. "They represent all the who's who of Philly sports."

"Have we notified the family?" Stillman asked.

"Parents are on their way in." Will's voice took on the heaviness of the moment.

Stillman nodded. "I'll talk to them."

"Miller and I can hit P3," Scotty volunteered. "See if anyone there can shed some light."

"Good idea." Stillman put his glasses back on. "Nicky, you and Will go talk to the neighbors. See if anyone can remember anything unusual."

The four detectives murmured their assent, and their little corner of the office was soon filled with the rustling of papers and coats and the scraping of chairs as they prepared to head out on their various missions.

Scotty didn't even glance at his old partner's desk on the way out.

Assistant Special Agent in Charge Craig Donaldson greeted Lilly and her partner with a perfunctory nod. "Morning, Nichols. Rush."

"Morning, sir." Despite the fact that Donaldson was indeed her boss, she couldn't quite use that title with him.

Donaldson shuffled through some papers on his desk. "I got a call from one of our field agents in Philly."

The mention of her hometown sent a jolt through Lilly's body that even the strongest cup of coffee and sugariest donut couldn't match. "Philly?"

"There's been a body turn up on a cold job," Donaldson fixed Lilly and Nichols with a hawk-like stare. "Shane Lucas. He was an informant for our white collar crimes division during an investigation into some alleged money laundering and other improprieties at a sports agency there called P3 Global. Vanished without a trace in January 2008, just a few months after he started working with us."

Nichols nodded. "I remember hearing about that from a buddy of mine."

"With no body and an ongoing investigation, we couldn't dig too deep back then." Donaldson said. "But now, as long as we use due caution, we can proceed."

Lilly's detective radar stirred to life. "Where'd they find him?"

"Basement of an old hotel downtown. Workers found it yesterday during some renovations." Donaldson peered at her over the rims of his wire-rimmed glasses. "I'm glad you're taking such a keen interest in this one, Rush."

"Just doin' my job, sir."

"Well, it looks like your job's gonna take you back home."

Lilly blinked in surprise. "Home."

Donaldson's long, thin countenance allowed just a hint of a smile. "Your old squad's been looking into this one since the discovery, and given the…warm welcome…local police tend to give us when we come to town, I thought it might make things easier for everyone involved if they saw a familiar face."

Lilly's mind started whirling. Forget the memories poking their heads out. Now they'd started to crawl out of their box on the shelf and were staring her in the face, demanding that she acknowledge them. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to cheer or flee in the opposite direction.

"Pack your bags, both of you." Donaldson looked up from his desk, glancing from Lilly to Nichols and back again. "Lieutenant Stillman is expecting you two this afternoon."

With a curt nod, he dismissed them, and Lilly turned and headed back out, her heart hammering, her body flooding with energy and emotion.

She was going home.